The Fate of the Virgin. Part 2.

Friday came too quickly, like a shadow that envelops the city before sunset. I stood at the entrance to the abandoned factory, my heart pounding as if it wanted to break through my ribcage. The air was hot, sticky, saturated with the smell of scorching asphalt and dust, but it couldn't drown out the turmoil churning inside me—a mix of fear, shame, and some dark, inexplicable anticipation that I hated in myself. My fingers clenched the strap of my bag, nails digging into my palms, leaving red crescents. I was wearing denim shorts that hugged my hips tightly and a light t-shirt that clung to my skin from the heat, accentuating the curves of my body—the slender waist,

small breasts, nipples that slightly showed through the fabric. I felt naked, as if every passerby could see that video hanging over me like the sword of Damocles.

Footsteps behind me made me flinch. I turned and saw them—two black men, whose silhouettes seemed more massive against the peeling walls of the factory. The first one, with tattoos snaking up his muscular arms, looked at me with a lazy smirk, his eyes heavy, appraising, as if he already knew what would happen next. The second, with sharp features and teeth that gleamed when he spoke, walked slightly behind, his gaze sliding over me like over prey. Their presence pressed down like the hot air, and their smell—musky, with notes of sweat and cheap cologne—hit my nose, reminding me of that meeting.

— You came," said the first one, his voice low, with a hoarseness that went to the bone. "Good girl.

I swallowed, my throat dry, words stuck somewhere in my chest. My breathing was uneven, as if I had run here, though I was just standing, clutching the bag like a lifebuoy.

— What do you want?

— Slut," finished the second.

His words cut like a knife, and I felt my cheeks flush. I wanted to scream that I wasn't like that, but my voice betrayed me. My lips trembled, that video spinning in my head—my lips, their bodies, the semi-darkness of the factory. I knew they weren't bluffing.

The second one snorted, his teeth flashing in a crooked smile.

— Well, why so quiet? Time's ticking," he said, his voice sharper, mocking.

I clenched my fists, nails digging deeper, but the pain didn't help. My heart pounded, a lump of fear and humiliation growing in my chest. I felt cornered, like an animal with no way back. What awaited me there? But I knew exactly what would happen if the video was seen by friends and family. I was a straight-A student; admission to the university I wanted would be closed to me.

— I... I'll go," I forced out, my voice trembling.

The first one nodded, as if it were a given, and the second grinned wider.

— First, do something," said the first, pulling a phone from his jeans pocket. "Call home. Say you're staying at a friend's until tomorrow. And no tricks.

— Hi, Mom," I said, trying to sound even. "I'm staying at a friend's, I'll be back tomorrow. The girls and I decided to hang out.

— Again?" There was a light mockery in her voice, but no suspicion. "Okay, just don't stay out too late. Alright?

— Alright," I replied, feeling my throat tighten. I ended the call, the phone almost slipping from my hands.

The first one took it, his fingers brushing against mine, and I flinched.

— Let's go," he said, nodding toward a black SUV parked nearby.

My breathing became uneven, each breath heavy, as if I were inhaling their presence. The smell in the car was stuffy—a mix of leather seats, their cologne, and the musky scent of their bodies. My heart pounded, a whirlwind of thoughts spinning in my head. I hated myself for agreeing, for not finding a way to escape. But this helplessness mixed with something dark that I didn't want to acknowledge. His hand on my thigh was heavy, commanding, and I felt the heat from his touch spreading through my body, despite the fear, despite the shame.

I turned to the window, the glass reflecting my face—pale, with wide-open blue eyes. The car sped through the city outskirts, past warehouses and wastelands, and I sat, squeezed between their world and mine. My body trembled, whether from the cold seats or from feeling like both a victim and an accomplice.

The car stopped at a low building, like an abandoned warehouse. Its walls were peeling, the paint faded, and the only window was covered in dust, through which the light of a streetlamp barely filtered. My heart skipped a beat, the second one's fingers squeezing my thigh one last time, leaving a burning trace before he opened the door.

— Get out," said the first, his voice calm but with an iron note.

I got out of the car, my legs shaking, the asphalt under my bare soles cold despite the heat. They led me to a side door, rusty and creaking, that opened with a heavy clang. Inside was a narrow staircase leading down to the basement. The steps dug into my feet, sending sharp jabs of pain. I grabbed the railing to keep from stumbling, but each step felt like stepping into an abyss. The smell of dampness and metal mixed with their musky scent, which seemed to follow me.

We descended into a spacious room—a gym, but not a glossy one, a rough one, saturated with the smell of sweat and iron. The floor was covered with worn rubber matting, cracked in places. In the center stood rusty barbells, weight plates scattered in disarray. Benches covered in worn leather stood along the wall, next to dumbbells scattered like forgotten toys. On one wall hung cloudy, cracked mirrors reflecting the dim light of fluorescent lamps buzzing overhead. In the corner was an old sofa with faded upholstery and stains, and next to it—a cracked leather armchair.

At the far end of the hall was a door to the shower room—a narrow space with peeling tiles, gray from dampness. Showerheads covered in limescale stuck out from the walls, puddles glistening on the floor.

On the sofa sat a third guy, massive, with broad shoulders and a stern face crossed by a scar over his left eyebrow. His eyes, narrowed and attentive, found me, and I shrank under his gaze, feeling like merchandise at a market.

— She's kinda skinny," he said, his voice deep, with a lazy mockery. He leaned back, crossing his arms, and his lips stretched into a smirk. "Is this all you dragged in?

The second one snorted, and the first shrugged. I felt my cheeks flush, shame flaring up anew. His words cut, my throat tightened, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I stood, clutching the bag strap, feeling small, vulnerable.

— Why are we here," I asked him, intuitively feeling he would tell the truth.

— So we can fuck you," he smirked, "what's not clear about that?

I felt fear, I was ready for a blowjob already and internally convinced myself it was the lesser evil, but now fear and despair seized me.

— I... I'm a virgin," burst out of me, my voice trembling, my cheeks burning with humiliation. "I've never had a boyfriend.

They exchanged glances. The second one snorted, his teeth flashed, and the third let out a low chuckle.

My heart plummeted, blood froze in my veins. I wanted to object, but the second black guy grabbed my arm, his fingers digging into my skin, and dragged me toward the shower room door. The first followed, and the third stayed behind, his laughter echoing off the walls. They shoved me into the damp, cold room. The first one shoved a metal showerhead, covered in limescale, into my hand.

— Get ready," he said, his voice cold as steel. "And don't drag it out.

The door closed behind them, and I was alone. The shower room was cramped, the walls covered in peeling tiles, gray from time and dampness. Showerheads stuck out from the walls, some dripping, leaving puddles on the floor. The light was dim, the bulb flickering, casting trembling shadows. I stood, clutching the showerhead, its cold metal burning my palm. My body trembled, whether from the cold or from the horror that gripped me like ice. I turned on the water. I brought the showerhead closer, feeling my throat tighten with shame and fear, soaped it up, and carefully began to insert it into my anus. I moved slowly, cautiously, each gesture mechanical, as if my body didn't belong to me. Water ran down my skin, mixing with my tears, which I hadn't even noticed. I finished, turned off the water, and silence crashed down on me like a blow. I stood, wet, trembling, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to cover up, though I knew it was useless. The shower room door seemed like a portal to another world, where they waited—with their mocking voices, rough hands, and gazes that undressed me over and over.

I pushed the door, and it opened with a drawn-out creak. The first and third black guys were sitting on the sofa, the second was setting up a camera on a tripod, aiming it at the center of the hall. My heart plummeted when I realized they were going to film again.

— Come here," said the third, his voice low, with rough mockery. He beckoned me with his hand, his fingers moving slowly but commandingly.

I shuffled over, my bare feet slapping against the rubber matting, leaving wet footprints. My body trembled, my skin covered in goosebumps, and my hands, covering my chest and lower abdomen, seemed like weak protection.

— Faster, don't drag it out," said the first, leaning forward, his tattooed hands resting on his knees.

I stopped in the center of the hall, feeling the floor chilling my skin, the wet footprints behind me glistening. My breathing was uneven, each breath heavy, as if I were trying to swallow this air, full of their smell—musky, pungent, mixed with iron and sweat.

— Well, ready?" asked the second, his voice sharp, with a mocking note. He stepped closer, and I felt his presence looming over me.

— Don't use the camera," burst out of me, my voice trembling. "Please, don't film.

The first one snorted, his tattooed arms crossing over his chest.

— One more video, one less—what's the difference?" he said. "You're already in the game.

The second let out a short chuckle, his teeth flashing.

— Relax," he added. "Don't you want everyone to see the first video?

The third rose from the sofa, his massive figure filling the space.

— It has to be voluntary," he said, his voice rough, with lazy mockery. "She has her documents with her, let her say everything on camera when we turn it on.

They agreed with his suggestion

— On your knees," said the first, his voice calm but with that same steel.

I knelt, the rubber floor digging into my skin, sending sharp jabs of pain. My body trembled, my hands covering my chest, but their gazes made it meaningless. They threw my passport at me, having taken it from my bag. I opened it in front of the camera, the page with my details, and with a trembling but confident voice began to say what they had ordered me to say, introduced myself, said that I loved sex with multiple men at once and was crazy about black cocks, and that what was about to happen was rough sex, the way I liked it. They, meanwhile, put on masks off-camera so their faces wouldn't be visible.

After that, one black guy leaned down, his fingers grabbing my hair, pulling me slightly away from the camera. His cock, massive and semi-erect, touched my lips, warm, with smooth skin and protruding veins. I tensed, but his grip was iron, and I opened my mouth. He filled it, stretching my lips, and I felt a salty taste mixed with bitterness. Saliva flowed, dripping onto my chin, and my throat tightened, trying to cope. Tears welled in my eyes, burning, they rolled down my cheeks. His movements were slow but persistent, each thrust calculated. He slapped my cheek, not hard, but I flinched, my skin burning.

The third approached last, his grip heavy, overwhelming. His cock, wide and heavy, filled my mouth, stretching my lips to the limit. The taste was salty, with a metallic note. Saliva flowed uncontrollably, dripping onto my knees, which ached from the floor. His movements were slow but strong, and I gagged, tears flowing harder. His laughter, guttural and low, was like a growl.

— Not bad for a start," he said, his hand squeezing my cheek.

They lifted me, tying me to a pull-up bar. Ropes dug into my wrists and ankles, stretching my body. I was naked, vulnerable, with trembling thighs and tense nipples. A gag tightened my lips, muffling my moans.

The first one lashed my back with a belt, the pain sharp, like a burn. My skin flared up, a red stripe appearing in the mirror. The second struck my thighs with a whip, the tails cutting into my skin, leaving burning marks. The third hit carelessly, the belt hitting my ribs, stomach, chest, leaving red stripes. I writhed, the ropes digging deeper, and tears rolled down my cheeks, mixing with sweat.

— Look how she twitches.

The pain was sharp but turned into a deep, throbbing ache, mixing with the heat spreading through my body. My reflection in the mirror was alien—a body covered in red stripes, trembling, with eyes full of tears. I was a virgin, who had never known such pain, such humiliation, but in that reflection, I didn't see the straight-A student, the athlete with hopes and dreams, but myself, pathetic and worthless.

They stepped back, arguing among themselves about who would go first. One said that the one who took her oral virginity would be unfair, the others should have the right to be first. They agreed and came back to me.

— What about condoms," I asked with the fear of doom, not believing my own words.

— You're a virgin, we have nothing to fear," laughed one of them, "another word without permission, and you'll get it harder and more painful. Shut up.

I obediently fell silent, fearfully awaiting the start of sex. I hadn't had it before, and I could never have imagined something like this happening to me. The third squeezed lube onto his cock, then squeezed some into my anus, I felt coolness and stickiness. He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into my skin, and I felt his cock, hot and massive, pressing against my anus. I tensed, fear and shame overwhelming me. His head, wide and hard, pressed against the tight entrance, slowly pushing it apart. My body resisted, muscles clenched, but he was persistent, his movements slow but relentless. I felt the head stretching me, every centimeter was agonizing.

— Relax," he muttered, his voice rough, his hands squeezing my body tighter.

I gasped, the gag muffled my moan as he went deeper. Pain mixed with heat, my anus stretched, enveloping him, and I felt every vein, every pulse. My body trembled, tears rolled down my cheeks. He moved slowly but powerfully, each thrust sending waves of pain and heat that mixed like a storm. My breathing was hoarse, each breath heavy, and the reflection in the mirror showed a girl I didn't recognize—with trembling thighs, red stripes on her skin, and eyes full of turmoil. He penetrated slowly and gradually went further, quickening the rhythm.

After that, the next black guy took his place, he entered roughly, but my anus was pliable, and I only gasped into the gag. He roughly wrapped his hands around my neck and began to squeeze, penetrating me, hard. I saw in the reflection how my nipples twitched, how my face reddened, his muscular hands on my neck. From the moans, saliva began to flow from under the gag, onto my chin.

My body trembled, muscles burned, and